


lover, tell me if you can

by loyaulte_me_lie



Series: do not let your heart (go to shit) [1]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Anniversary, Cats, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie
Summary: Henry has a wobble on their first anniversary. They practise healthy communication and everything ends happily.





	lover, tell me if you can

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I have no idea what this is. Inspired by being up early and feeding my cats a lot and my general bleurgh state of mental health atm I guess, but oh well. Title is from Hadestown which I have fallen into total obsession with.
> 
> Warnings for wobbly mental health, but apart from that usual drill please :D

The morning of their first anniversary, Alex wakes up too-warm, bundled in the duvet, with sunlight on his face and a smug, purring weight sitting _far _too close to his chin for comfort.

“What are you doing, monster munch?” he mumbles. Hamilton digs his claws into Alex’s chest, still purring beatifically. “You want feeding don’t you? Why hasn’t Dad fed you if he’s not here? Where’s he gone, Hammy?”

There’s a chirrup and then Harriet leaps up too, pouncing on Alex’s bare toes.

“Babies,” he groans, “it’s 7am on a Saturday. Why are you even in here?”

A not-insignificant part of his brain is wondering where HRH Prince of Saturday Morning Cuddles in Bed has gone. Henry is a massive pain to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. Henry will happily stay in his pyjamas all day on a Saturday. Even on a normal day, he doesn’t usually get up before eight unless he’s due an early shift at the shelter. The perks of being an author without a nine to five, Alex thinks, rolling out of bed. Still. He should be here. There’s no text from one of the PPOs, no message on the blackboard hung over the back of the door, and it’s still three months until the anniversary of his father’s death, so it’s less likely to be about that. Also it's their anniversary. Alex has _plans. _

“Okay, critters,” Alex says, finding his boxers. Hammy meows, expectantly. It’s always better to be dressed. You never know who might ring the doorbell. He knows this from bitter experience, despite the stupid hour. He shuffles into the kitchen, the cats sinuous and excited around his legs, intent on tripping him up. They really can be creatures of very little brain sometimes.

“You _two,_” he says, grabbing the food and blearily tipping some out into their bowls. Harriet makes a playful snap at his bare toes.

“Oi, none of that,” he says, putting their bowls on the floor and going to poke aggressively at the coffee machine. Henry always laughs at him when he does that. Alex maintains that he gets more interesting coffee that way.

There’s no note out here, either. Alex takes a big slurp of coffee – vanilla and cinnamon and oat, interesting – and as his brain kicks into gear, he realises that the French windows into the garden are half-ajar. Since they were making out against them last night this has to be recent development because Alex does not recall accidentally defenestrating through said windows. Can one defenestrate through a French window since it also doubles as a door?

He eyes the door for a second, and then grabs Henry’s favourite mug out of the cupboard – bright orange with HRH Prince Dickhead 💩 scrawled on it, what can Alex say he’s got _great _taste in birthday presents – shoves random buttons on the coffee machine and grabs the packet of croissants out of the bread bin. The coffee might be chocolate flavoured, Alex thinks, or it might be burned. Henry’s just going to have to take a chance. He toes open the door. Both cats promptly make breaks for freedom, disappearing into the hedges, and Alex follows them down the veranda steps and into the dew-damp grass. The early morning chill flicks against his skin, and he shivers.

The fairy-path at the bottom of the garden is kind of muddy, but the lights are still on amidst all the roses, and as Alex comes out into the party glade, he feels himself relax a little, release some of the tension he didn’t consciously realise he was carrying. Henry is sitting on the swing-seat, wrapped in a blanket with his notebook on his lap. At the sound of Alex’s footsteps, he looks up and gives him a wan smile.

“Morning,” Alex says, trying for gentle. “I brought you coffee and breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Henry replies, taking the mug.

“I can go if you want to be alone.”

Henry sighs, and then says, “No, stay. I’m just…”

The sentence disappears like the end of a vapour trail. Alex feels the worry spark back up, settles himself down at the other end of the swing seat, rocking it gently back and forth with his toes. Behind the brick walls, the security fence, and the privacy hedges the city has been awake for hours. Somewhere close, a truck backfires. The sky is pale, streaked with the remnants of fragile, icy clouds.

They sit in silence for a good fifteen minutes. Alex finishes his coffee. Henry stares into the depths of his, and then sighs again, puts it down and looks over. There are deep circles under his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Nothing, I…well. It sounds so stupid; I just couldn’t sleep and you were sleeping and so gorgeous and I was just thinking what the hell have I done to deserve this man in my life? Like, nothing, I’m the offspring of the literal embodiment of institutional inequality – like how does my family get to have all this money and all these fucking castles when so many people are homeless and hungry, why is the world this way? And then I go to the shelter and volunteer and stuff, and these kids have _nothing _and I’m just…I just…and then I come back here to you, to this house, to this life and it's like, what's the fucking point of it all? It's so unfair.”

“So basically you’re upset cause you don’t think you deserve to be here and the world is shitty,” Alex says. Henry looks away again.

“Yeah. I…yeah.”

“Well, it was random chance, being born who you were,” Alex points out, leaning down to put his mug on the ground. The neighbour chooses that moment to begin playing loud rock music out of their bathroom window. “And yeah, we both know the world is unfair, and we _both _have ridiculous amounts of privilege, you know. But you _are _doing something, that’s the point. You're using your privilege. The kids would still be on the streets if it wasn’t for you, you know?”

“I just think I could be doing more.”

“What more could you do?”

“I don’t _know,_” Henry says, and he sounds so genuinely anguished, Alex shifts closer, puts a tentative arm around Henry’s shoulders. They’re as tense as a high-wire act, trembling slightly. “And then I feel like shit for getting stuck in my head like this on our anniversary.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“If I say it’s okay, it’s okay, yeah? I get it. Sometimes your head decides to be a bitch and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Okay.”

“Come here. My arm’s getting tired.”

Henry slides a little closer and Alex uses the opportunity to climb into his lap, take his face between two hands and look him straight in his eyes. God, Alex will never get over the colour of Henry’s eyes, blue like an electric current, like sunlight on the sea.

“You _are _doing enough by anyone’s standards,” Alex starts, “but if you want to do more, we can work out how to do more, yeah? There’s enough money and enough people and you’ve got enough time if you want to put the book on the back burner for a bit. And then about deserving me? Neither of us deserve each other. I don’t deserve _you, _but I’m a selfish asshole and I refuse to care. You’re mine, and I’m yours. You're stuck with me forever, okay?”

“Okay,” Henry says, exhaling, resting his forehead against Alex’s, one hand coming up to wrap around Alex’s wrist. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Better?”

“I will be. I’m sorry. I spiralled.”

“I know. I spiral too, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It’s not fun.”

“Nope.”

“You know what is fun?”

“Knowing you…”

“Nope. Come on. We’re having breakfast, and then I got tickets to that exhibition you wanted to go and see at the Met. _Then _we’re going to go get picnic lunch and read in the park all afternoon, and _then _you’re taking me out for dinner and if you’re _really_ nice I might consider putting out tonight.”

Amusement curls at the corners of Henry’s mouth. “Alright. That does sound like fun.”

“I’m the best boyfriend ever.”

“Yes, you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you can guess who their cats are named after :D Come Tumblr with me: @if-fortunate.


End file.
